A Second Glance
by OMightyWifeofShinigami
Summary: A simple walk through a forgotten town proves to be a powerful lesson in life


A Second Glance  


  
Disclaimer: Nope don't own anything cept this idea  
Warnings: New charas, angst  
Rated: PG Wow, I actually wrote something PG ^_^ Go me  
Archive: Here, that's about it. If any one wants to, they can put my story up on their site. As long as you e-mail and tell me, so I can visit and check it out.   
Feedback: Oh yes, pretty please, with sugar on top (Sparkly eyes)  
blah blah' - indicating thought  
~^~ * ~^~ - indicating time change or memory  
  
A cloaked figure carefully weaved his way through the market square of the old town he was passing through. His dark eyes scanned the merchants and their shabby carts they pulled. The sky was dark and gray, matching everyone's mood. The clouds; pregnant with rain floated lazily, begging to release their cargo. The figure paused, tightening the cloak around him, as if trying to ward off the cold that was setting in.   
  
Three small children darted in front him, laughing and giggling, despite the rags they wore. Their bare feet padding effortlessly across the rough cobblestone. To the left of him, in a building a couple were fighting, the husband screaming at his wife about money problems. Something shattered against the wall and all was quiet save for the woman's sobbing. A man sat huddle against a wall, his knobby knees poking out from the holes in his pants. He took a sip from a bottle in a paper bag and scratched the side of his face, opening a small cut that appeared to be healing.  
  
Everywhere the man turned, there was something appalling that made him angry, or depressing that made him want to weep with sorrow. The whole town was dying, the heart of it, the society withering away. It was as if time had cruelly forgotten these people. There was so much he wished he could do, the man that stood between their extinction and life.  
  
He wandered past a small car carrying bowls of soup and bread. His stomach growled involuntarily and he wondered when was the last time he ate. He paused and glanced at the darkening sun, knowing he didn't have any money with him. His stomach growled again, another sharp pain of hunger. The soup cart was being run by an elderly woman with frizzy white hair that stood as if it been shocked with lightening. She shrieked at everyone that passed by as if they were all against her.   
  
The man wandered up to the woman who turned to him as soon as he approached her. In hands she held a wooden spoon that she was using to stir the contents of the soup. She glared at the man, though her eyes lit up with the thought of making a profit from him.   
  
So my dear boy, she crooned, showing her front missing teeth in what she thought was a smile.   
  
Yes ma'am, the man answered.  
  
5 credits!, she shrieked pointing the wooden spoon at the man.  
  
Please ma'am I am very hungry but I don't have any money. Could I- the man was cut off from the elderly woman beating at him with the spoon.  
  
No credits! No food! Be gone!  
  
The man retreated hastily, not used to be attacked so suddenly and viciously by such. He wandered a little ways down the street. He was weary, tired from the burden that was set upon his shoulders. Every day it grew heavier and heavier and as much as he didn't want to admit, let alone think, his spirit was growing heavy as well. So many battles, so many encounters with Aku, so many lies and tricks, the outcome of all never in his favor. This city proved his failures time and time again, like a slap in the face.  
  
The heavens cracked and shattered, sending their burden of rain down on the people below. They cared not that at the sounds of cursing at them or the fact that many of the people could not escape the rain fast enough. The man was soon soaked to the bone in less then nothing, his attire did not help his mood.  
  
A voice reached his ears and the man turned at the strange sound. It wasn't strange, but it stood out among the other noises of the city. The city was filled with anger, sadness and bitterness but the voice was pleasant and serene, humming a familiar tune. The voice belonged to a man, that much was clear but where. The cloaked man glanced at the merchants but it was not coming from them, they had their heads down, or tucked beneath their collars to stay out of the rain. Again he heard it, floating through the rain.  
  
The man tilted his head, following the sound. He spotted a small shack at the end of the small village. It lead the soak man to it, as if being pulled by a invisible string. Wisps of white smoke drifted lazily from the open fire that was covered by a canopy in front of the shack and the water logged man gratefully stepped under it escaping the rain. He pulled his hood off and shook the water from his hair that was once kept but now hung in drenched locks around his shoulders. His dark eyes, the color of the coals that were piled neatly next to the fire, scanned the new surroundings.   
  
The shack he saw was really nothing more then old wooden walls and a roof that leaked in different places. Buckets and cups were placed directly under the dripping water, gathering it so it didn't make the dirt floor muddy. The room was curtained off in the middle by some canvas materiel, completely blocking anyone's view who passed by. Beside the fire there was a wooden table that held a few carving knives and saws. Sawdust and wood shavings littered the ground everywhere. Leaning against the table were a few large chunks of wood, some long others short.   
  
The man shivered and held his hands out over the fire, warming himself. Hanging over the fire was a small black cauldron and something was boiling inside. Something delicious but the smell. The man's stomach growled at the reminder of food.  
  
The humming came again from somewhere in the back of the shack, becoming louder as the person who it belonged to neared. For a brief moment the man tensed, already reaching for his hood, waiting to be shoved back out into the rain by the person.  
  
The curtain parted and the keeper of the voice emerged. He smiled brightly, though it was partially hidden by his beard and mustache, his dark blue eyes shinning with mirth. The stranger looked as though he was around his age, maybe a little older by the wrinkles in his brow but that could have came from his hard carpentry work that he figured out.  
  
Hello friend, the man said in a tone that reminded the wet man of his father's voice. It was kind and gentle but rough and strong. The man carried a large log of wood, taller then he was and set it down by the table as if it was nothing more then a twig. He rightened himself and pushed back his dark brown hair that fell in tangled locks around his shoulders.  
  
The cloaked man bowed. I'm sorry sir, I should have knocked first, forgive me, I shall be going.  
  
Well if you want to, the man said, his tone held a hint of puzzlement as he cleared some wood shavings from the table. Though it's raining mighty hard now. Come, sit by the fire, warm yourself. The carpenter smiled again and walked around the table and pulled a wooden stool from under it. He dusted off the sawdust and set it down. Let me take your cloak, it's soaking wet. The man looked around, before undoing the rope that held his cloak and handed it to the brown haired man who then turned around and hung it over a chair, next to the fire.  
  
The carpenter turned back and watched the other unhook a sheathed sword by his belt and set it beside him, out of sight. Well you look like you've been traveling a great distance. How about something to eat?  
  
Yes, thank you.  
  
The brown haired man smiled again and scooped some of the soup into a wooden bowl and handed it to him. I know I have a spoon around here someplace, ah here it is. He reached under one his saws and pulled out a smooth wooden spoon. Just made it this morning.  
  
Thank you again. The oriental man dove into soup, not caring that it burned his tongue. It was just as delicious as it smelled, even better. There was an array of vegetables, some he had never tasted before and some sort of meat, it reminded him of fish. He barely finished the bowl when another was presented to him. He took it, thanking the man again before devouring it. Another was given to him as soon as he finished it.   
  
By the third bowl, his stomach no longer ached and he slowed, the soup and fire warming his body and drying his clothes. He relaxed, feeling better. It was then he remembered he forget to introduce himself. He set the bowl down, intending to pick it back up later and he cleared his throat. I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten my manners. My name... my is Jack.  
  
The carpenter leaned over the table and held his hand out. Nice to met you Jack. He exchanged handshakes. You must forgive me of my mess, I've been extra busy lately. So Jack, where do you hail from?  
  
The Japanese man picked his bowl back up and stirred the contents. I come from a place far from here, towards the rising sun. You may have not heard of it.  
  
Ah, I thought maybe you came from the East, you look like it. I don't see too many people other then who are in town and those who pass through it. The man turned back to cleaning his table, or rather clearing it. Though those people are dwindling now that they built the larger roads. He picked up piece of string and laid it against the length of the log, measuring it.  
  
If you don't mind me asking, what brings you through our little town? The man hefted the log up on another table and reached for his large saw, bringing it swiftly across the log, breaking through the thick bark with ease.  
  
I wanted a change of scenery.  
  
Hmm, I know what you mean. These large cities with their tall buildings that reach to the heavens and their cars that go faster then light, I don't like them myself. It makes me sad to see such waste.  
  
How so?, Jack couldn't help but ask. He had his reasons of not liking the larger cities.  
  
Well, you see here, this little town is poverty stricken, there are children running around without parents or homes, husbands beating their wives, angry elderly people beating at you with a wooden spoon, drunks, drug addicts, and this is just a small tiny town. I can imagine what it is in the big city. With one final saw, a small chunk of the log fell off with a thunk to the floor. The carpenter then lifted the log back up and leaned it against the table in front of him. He took a strange looking saw, the blade was curved like a moon and he set it against the bark of the wood, before bring it away from him, stripping the bark from the log.  
  
I understand what you say. I have seen it, too many times, Jack said, setting the empty bowl on the table. He remained silent, remembering.  
  
Would you like something to drink?  
  
What? Oh yes thank you.  
  
The man nodded his head and set his saw down. He disappeared into the shack and behind the curtain. A moment later he returned with a pitcher of water and a loaf of bread. Here you are, he poured the water into a wooden cup and set the plate of bread in front of Jack. I'm sorry, I don't have any butter.  
  
That's all right, I'm grateful for everything.  
  
It's my pleasure. The man returned to stripping the bark from the log. The two were silent, save for the drumming of the rain and the sound of the saw against the wood. Jack sipped his water and ate a piece if the bread. It was just as good as the soup, it didn't need any butter.  
  
Do you live here?, the Japanese man asked. I mean here in this little place.  
  
I sure do, in the back. I live alone so I can work as late as I need to and not worry about walking home in the dark or waking anyone up.  
  
I know what is like to be alone.  
  
The carpenter looked up and wiped his brow. No ones ever alone Jack, there's is always someone there watching over you, even though you never see them. The last of the bark finally gave way, and the smooth bare wood glistened. There are always with you, even in the most troublesome time in your life. He set the log on the ground and grabbed a nearby ax along with a few metal wedges and a hammer. He hammered the wedges in a square pattern along the top part of the log, splitting the wood slightly.  
  
Jack hesitated, peering into his cup as if it was more important then what he was going to say. The brown haired man said nothing though he did pause in his own work. The ax in hand. Never mind, it is frivolity.  
  
Nothing frivolous if it's worth talking about. The man held the ax over his shoulder, one sandaled foot on the log to steady it.  
  
It's so hard to live a good life. I try and follow the path that is directed for me, but I find myself straying from it. There are so many mistakes I've made, I feel as though I can never achieve what I am living for.  
  
Who said you were perfect. The carpenter swung the ax at the log, sending small chips flying. He stood up again. No one's perfect, we're all bound to make mistakes. Another swing of the ax. Nothing in life is easy. Another chop of the log. Life is worth the hardship we go through. More flying chips. It may not seem like it, but everything we go through builds us and makes us stronger. A few more swings. Just remember and never be discouraged my friend. The man straightened and wiped his brow again. There is someone always there for you, watching out for you, always there when you need them, someone you can lean on.  
  
The carpenter laid the ax on the table and made his way around the fire, picking up a shorter log of wood that was done in the same fashion. He moved a little slower but remained determined to finish to his task. Laying the two logs across each other, the two notches fitting together snugly like a puzzle. He then lifted the giant cross, and laid it on his shoulder, almost collapsing under the weight.  
  
Jack stood up. Let me help you. He shouldered the cross. I've watched you build this, you've done enough, let me repay your kindness. He half dragged, half carried the wooden cross to the wall of the shack and leaned in against it. He couldn't believe how heavy it was.  
  
Thank you my friend, the man said rubbing his shoulder where the cross had been. That gets harder every time I make one. Guess I'm not as young as I used to be. He smiled, lines of hard work appearing in his tanned face. He then look over Jack's shoulder. Ah, it's stopped raining now.  
  
Jack turned and saw that it was true. The clouds had already departed but the sky was still dark as the sun slid behind the trees. Birds chirped happily in the woods around them and a butterfly flapped past him, dancing in the light cool wind that blew through the town. His clothes dry, his stomach full, and his heart less heavy. Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling at ease in a long time. He closed his eyes, feeling the wind dry his hair which was still a little wet, before tying it up.  
  
I expect you'll be leaving soon?, the carpenter asked.  
  
Yes, I have to continue on my path. The samurai turned to face the other man. I thank you for everything. he took his cloak from the chair and wrapped it around his shoulders. The brown haired man bent down and took the sheathed katana in hand. He looked it over once before handing it to the warrior.  
  
Keep strong Samurai Jack, there are always rough times ahead. In the end, everything will be as they were before.  
  
You have great hope and strength in such a place. I respect such ways. Thank you again. The Japanese man bow low, before covering his head with the hood. I hope I will see you again.  
  
You will, the carpenter smiled, watching the samurai disappear into the dark. But not now, perhaps not until your tasks in life has been accomplished. When they have all been completed then I will welcome you with open arms my son.  
  
  
Haha! I completed a mini fic! Go me! Go me! Go me! Huzzah! I wrote this during bad time in life, kinda like a rut that I couldn't get out of but writing this, has made me feel a whole lot better. I decided to share this with everyone here. I thank everyone who left a review and for those who don't, I hope at least my story was uplifting ^___^  



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